


the saints can't help me now

by copperiisulfate



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Animal Death, Character Study, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8610844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperiisulfate/pseuds/copperiisulfate
Summary: The clan elders had a saying:Take the thing you cherish most and know exactly how to destroy it.





	

 

You learn it young, partly because you have to, partly because you're bored, partly because there's not much else to think, to feel, to do.  
  
You learn it young but not young enough.

The travesty is that you meet him before you learn it, at least all of it, although in truth you started the process even before you were born, possibly the moment the mere idea of you was conceived, let alone your cells, long before you had a name, a face, a place as an heir and eventual ruler.

You used to wish that you'd met him after. Sometimes, you'd even go so far as to wish you'd never met him at all. It would have been much easier that way for the both of you. No need for all this lost sentiment and quiet recognition. No need for memories that became mostly vestigial in your head anyway, no real value or merit attached to them, just as there was no real value or merit left to him.

This was before, while you were still young, greedy and curious in ways that were dangerous.

You've grown in many, many ways since. 

 

 

*

 

 

The clan elders had a saying:

_Take the thing you cherish most and know exactly how to destroy it._

You have seen it play out now, time and time again.

Most vividly, you remember it in a distant older cousin who took his most beloved pet dove from his childhood and, at his coming of age ceremony, snapped her neck.

 

 

*

 

 

You dream often, and they are often nonsensical, forgettable.

Mostly, they are a blur of playbacks of old exorcisms, near-misses, long-dead relatives, your father's last words to you.

Sometimes, it's the thing that wants your eye. Half the time it wins. 

Other times, he is there, just a shadow in the woods, the shape of his ridiculous hat barely distinguishable amidst the branches and leaves, and he passes by without saying a word. Other times, he is in a ravine, lifeless, with his eyes wide open. Large gaping wounds cover what you can see of his body as the water grows rust-coloured.

Once, you had dreamt that he walked through the woods with arrows piercing his chest, arrowheads sticking out of his back in all directions; still, the silhouette of him under the moonlight stood and went about his business, ignorant of being impaled repeatedly, ignorant and unconcerned.

There's possibly a metaphor in there somewhere but you're not in much of a position to think through it when you wake up.

None of it startles you like it would once have. You have had time to grow accustomed to these things. You also have far more pressing priorities.

There is a meeting this afternoon, the biggest this region has held in years. They are hoping to tackle a migrant water-type yokai causing the neighboring townships to flood in a fit of vengeance, a stake of claim over its old haunting grounds. The presence of the head of Matoba has been especially requested.

There are multiple ways to protect people; some are more efficient than others.

 

 

*

 

 

You cross paths one summer night in a forest known for yokai that appear and follow the phases of the moon.

Except, crossing paths is likely an overstatement. Rather, you are parallel lines, no point of intersection. He does not look at you and you do not look at him other than to register presence as is generally vigilant to do so.

A part of you still has to bite back the urge to say: _Careful._   _Someone of your skill, or lack thereof, should not wander so recklessly in these parts alone._

Part of it would be facetious, you realize, and perhaps, part of it would also be sincere.

But these are idle thoughts for idle minds. 

You have work ahead of you and the night is young, but soon, it will not be. There are only so many hours until sunrise, until this specific exorcism will no longer hold, and you will lose this deal for another full moon.

You do not have the time to wait that long.

 

 

*

 

 

(Only once, do you dream of him in your bed, the salamander yokai sliding over his collarbone and your fingers fanning over his rib cage, reaching higher and higher, going for his throat. 

It's hard to make out the details in the darkness, more sensation than anything, skin pressed to skin, bones against bones.

Later, you’re not sure if you were embracing him or killing him.)

 

 

* 

 

 

It was always a preventative measure and you know this.

It's laughable really that you're taking agency for something that was, in reality, largely out of your control.

Maybe, it's only a matter of pride. You like to think that you had control, that you started it and ended it, and had the choice, when in fact, near the end, he would hardly give you the time of day.

In your more honest moments, you can laugh to yourself and at yourself about this.

Likely, he saw through your smile and knew what was lurking underneath. Perhaps, he had known all along, known even longer than you had about what you were really made of, the extent to which you were capable of reaching to get what you wanted and needed. 

And how can you be a hypocrite and blame someone else for their own self-preservation of sorts when it is all you have ever done and all you have known?

As weak as he may have been, you have to admit that he was more clever than you had given him credit for and you'll give him that now. He had not let himself be destroyed or consumed by you--perhaps both at once--because, for the two of you, they might have been interchangeable, and it's perfectly fine that you will never know the difference now. 

You decidedly never think of the other universes: one where he played along until you both forgot the rules, both forgot that it was a game, and perhaps one of you lost somewhere in between. You don't think of the other universe where you made him someone else or he made you someone else. 

This is, after all, quite possibly the best case scenario.

You're both alive and he's not quite the worthiest adversary (although he had such potential to be) but you have faith in his insolence and are convinced that he will still scrape by and manage somehow.

As a matter of fact, you think that you rather like him like this, the version of him that came out of the fire.

You think you like the look in his eye far better now than you did before you'd pushed each other away with relentless ferocity, an endless distance.

It matches nicely with the look in yours.

 

 

*

 

 

The elders had a saying and they promised survival. There was little else that came with it.

Fortunately for you, your greed always knew its limits.

 

**Author's Note:**

> _a man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night / may still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright_
> 
>  
> 
> or: once upon a time i listened to _howl_ by florence + the machine and had a lot of messy feelings about matoba seiji.


End file.
